


Just the Same

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Series: No Yesterdays [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF, Stargate - All Media Types, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stargate Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 01:32:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16149734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: Michael’s introduction to the Stargate program doesn’t get off to a great start, no.





	Just the Same

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for Anon who asked for something in this AU with this prompt: 106: “ Do you believe in aliens? ”

Michael’s at a bar in town nursing a beer and listening with half an ear to the soft blues playing from the jukebox in the corner. There’s a game on the television, and a crowd of people who don’t know or care who he is or what kind of trouble he’s brought down on himself with his latest stunt and it’s - 

He won’t say it’s great, but it’s a damn sight better than hanging around base.

Eyes on him everywhere he went like he was a time-bomb set to go off at the slightest provocation. Like they don’t know the kind of bastard Sullivan was, the kind of sleaze - 

“Hey,” Michael hears, and looks over when someone sits on the bar stool next to him. 

The guy has this smug little smirk to him as he leans over to grab the bowl of nuts Michael’s been picking through and shoves a handful in his face.

“I’m sorry what?” Michael asks, not so much angry as bewildered because who the fuck does something like that?

The guy’s smirk gains this edge to it as he sits back to look Michael over. 

“Military?” he asks, and there’s something to it that has Michael’s hackles rising just the slightest bit.

He's already in trouble with the mess with Sullivan, though. No need to give his lawyers more ammo by getting in a bar fight with a civilian.

“What gave it away?” Michael asks. “Was it the hair? It’s always the hair.”

First thing people look at, really. 

The guy snorts.

“Thought the military didn't like smartasses.”

They’re not big fan of them, no. At least not the kind like Michael, which, you know. Kind of a problem, given everything.

“You kidding me?” Michael asks, because he’s the kind of stupid who should know better but clearly doesn’t. “They love assholes like me.”

He gets the old side-eye for that, and a downgrade from the guy’s annoyingly smug smirk to something a little softer.

“Sure kid,” he says, and signals the bartender for another round of nuts and a new beer for Michael even though he's barely halfway through his first. 

Michael has no idea where the fucker came from, but he doesn’t seem about to leave anytime soon, and honestly he's too tired to put up much of a fight about things.

The guy hums along to the song, off-key and doing an all-over shitty job of it when he glances at Michael again. 

This _look_ on his face,and Michael braces himself for whatever he’s about to say next. He’s looking a lot like the town crazy, the old nutjob who hangs out at the bar and spouts conspiracy theories and whatever the hell else is packed away in that head of his. 

“Hey,” he says, corner of his mouth ticking up at the way Michael leans away from him. “Do you believe in aliens?”

Michael stares at the guy who looks dead serious. Like he has no idea how crazy he sounds.

And Michael, okay, _Michael._

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Michael says flatly, and takes a drink of his beer, wishes it was something stronger. “I’m goddamn crazy about the fuckers. Just. Fucking _wild_ about them.”

The guy cracks up, this weird hyena laughter that doesn’t rub Michael the wrong way even though he’s clearly laughing at Michael. Opens his mouth like he’s going to say something. 

Maybe ask if Michael’s seen an alien himself, or something else along those lines, but -

“There you are, you asshole.”

The guy turns at the voice, oblivious to the clear annoyance in it as he throws his arms wide to welcome the man walking up to them.

“Jack!” 

The sigh “Jack” lets out is the most long-suffering thing Michael’s ever heard, and he’s done enough in his life be a decent judge on that front.

“Have you been drinking?”

The guy shakes his head, hand over his heart.

“You know I wouldn’t,” he says, something wounded in it as he gestures to the bar at large. “Some asshole spilled his drink on me, so I came over here and ended up making a friend.”

Jack looks at Michael, and Michael holds his hands up.

“Don’t look at me,” he says. “I was just minding my business when your buddy started putting his hands all over my nuts.”

There’s a delicate pause, Michael's eyebrows going up as he dares the nut-stealer to refute his claim. Waits to see what his buddy’s going to do because – hey, Michael’s an asshole. 

“Okay,” Jack says suspiciously evenly, as he places a hand on the asshole’s shoulder. “Well, I’m sorry to break things up, but he has a busy day tomorrow.”

Michael watches as Jack drags his asshole friend out of the bar and decides it’s well past time he went home too, and pulls out his phone to bring the rideshare app up.

========

Two weeks later and Michael’s standing in front of a Stargate for the first time.

It’s definitely _something_. 

Millennia old technology that outclasses anything the human race has managed by a mile, for all it’s just a big stone ring.

The nut-stealer from the bar is beside him, all cleaned up and apparently in charge of this top-secret government organization that explores alien planets like it’s nothing.

“Good thing you believe in aliens,” General Ramsey says, and slaps Michael on the shoulder as he walks down the ramp. “Keep up, you’ve to a lot to catch up on.”

========

Michael get a crash course on the SGC and their mission statement. A brief history and all that and the promise of more in-depth information if he decides to sign on. The whole recruitment spiel, like he’s something special and not just another asshole like all the others who signed their lives away to the government.

And then the General tilts his head, just so when Michael asks why they seem to want him so badly. Why they’re willing to handle the mess with Sullivan is he joins the SGC, give him the chance to advance his military career instead of letting it stagnate.

“Gavin asked me for a favor,” he says. “Wanted to offer you a chance here with the SGC.”

Michael’s brain blue-screens for a moment there, because Gavin, okay.

Gavin was this weedy little scientist Michael was assigned to years back. Got pushed around by the grunts who never got the bullies are assholes talk until Michael stepped in.

They’ve kept in contact over the years, but news from Gavin’s trailed off a year or so ago. Just after he landed a new job somewhere, very hush-hush and all that.

“Gavin.”

The General smirks, but there’s a hint of fondness to it.

“You must have made quite the impression on him,” he says. “Asshole doesn’t call in favors like that unless it’s important to him.”

========

Michael heads to the mess hall for a cup of coffee as he considers his options. 

He’s still coming to terms wth the fact that aliens are real. That the General may have been fucking with him back at the bar, but aliens are real and it’s taking time to fully process.

Because hey, not only are aliens real, but there are some out there who have either tried to either destroy the world or take it over several times in recent history. 

And now Michael is expected to go through the Stargate to come into contact with more aliens, of the assholes, the ones who don’t want them dead. (Hopefully.)

It sounds like something out of a bad movie, but obviously _isn’t_.

Michael looks up when someone clears their throat, and oh, look. 

It’s Gavin.

“Geoff explained things then?” Gavin asks, slight jitter to his hands like he’s been living off coffee and energy drinks again. “You’re staying?”

The hopeful note to his voice doesn’t go unnoticed, or the way Gavin doesn’t really meet his eyes as though he’s afraid of what Michael might do.

And maybe, maybe, if Gavin had used his favors to secure Michael a place with the SGC. Bullied his way into landing Michael a job here ahead of better qualified people out there, he’d be angry about things. Think he was getting him into the kind of situation where he’d be indebted to the fucker, _but_.

The General made it clear that it’s not a sure thing, this. That Gavin had asked Geoff to consider him for a position here with one of the gate teams. Made sure Geoff knew about this potential candidate because he wanted to give Michael a chance at a future here if he wanted it.

There’s more to it, of course, a whole mess of complicated bullshit the General went through to push Michael’s name through like this. The unofficial trip out to assess Michael in the most bizarre way possible, and Michael’s still not sure that wasn’t some kind of hallucination.

Still.

Michael doesn’t have a lot of options open to him, really.

Face court martial for striking a superior officer even though Sullivan fucking deserved it, or join the SGC and explore alien planets. 

The high risk of dying horribly out there, to quote the General:

_“Shit gets rough out there."_

So Michael’s been thinking about it. 

The pros and cons of joining the SGC to visit alien planets and everything that goes with it. 

Michael sighs as he studies Gavin. 

He looks.

Well, he looks like shit. 

Bags under his eyes and that jitter to him, but happy under it all. Like he’s doing something he loves, worth missing sleep and sucking back enough caffeine running through his veins that would have killed a lesser man.

This idiot who used up favors to get Michael here because Michael was nice to him that one time.

“Aliens,” Michael says. “ _Aliens_.”

Gavin makes this humming noise, head cocked to the side.

“Geoff said you believed in them?” he says, like he doesn’t see what the problem is here.

“I thought he as the town crazy, Gavin,” he says, taking care to speak clearly because Gavin’s kind of an idiot sometimes. 

“Well,” Gavin says, just as slowly and clearly because he’s also a little shit. “You’re not entirely wrong on that one. Everyone here’s crazy. It helps.”

That - 

Yeah, okay.

You’d have to be at least a little crazy to step through the Stargate the way these people do. Knowing the risks and forging on ahead anyway because they want – need - to know what’s out there.

“Awesome,” Michael says, because he’s always been a little crazy himself. “Glad I decided to sign on for this shit.”

He doesn't risk tempting fate by asking what could possibly go wrong, but like an idiot, he does think it, because honestly. 

What could possibly go wrong?


End file.
